Clean up in Aisle 9
by bagelcat1
Summary: A late night adventure in the mundane goes awry for Sam and Dean. No Slash. Rated for some swearing. Complete


Dean sat with the engine idling, hands clenched around the steering wheel. Sam had his hands in his lap, tension running through his body as he sat rigidly in the passenger seat. Both brothers were peering through the windshield with apprehension and anxiety at the task in front of them. They had determined that this job was a necessity, but neither man seems eager to actually initiate movement out of the safety of the Impala.

"Dude, let's forget about this and just move on." Dean had a whine in his voice that he would stridently deny if challenged. But Sam shook his shaggy head.

"No," he said firmly although his tightly clenched fists revealed that he wasn't keen on the upcoming challenge either. "We can do this. We just need to split up and get this done." Sam tore the piece of paper in his hands carefully in half and handed one part to Dean. "Here, you take this part and I'll cover the rest."

Dean grumbled but took the proffered paper. "All right, but stay alert, keep your phone on and meet back at the car in exactly one hour." Sam nodded, and both men pushed open their respective doors, the familiar squeak and groan of the metal cold comfort in face of the behemoth in front of them. Shoulder to shoulder they strode across the asphalt towards the door. Taking a deep, calming breath, each man tried not to flinch as they walked under the large blue "Walmart" sign looming overhead.

Dean grabbed a cart and made his way over to the men's clothing. Over the years Dean had learned that the hunting life was hard on many things; relationships, shoulder joints, mental health and oddly socks. They went through socks extremely quickly. Neither brother could find a complete pair this morning or even owned any socks that didn't have holes in them. Right now, Dean could feel his big toe poking through the sock on his right foot, and he knew that Sam had on one blue and one black sock.

As Dean perused the many selections of sport socks looking for the oversized ones that Sam prefered, he felt himself begin to relax a bit. At this time of night the store was sparsely populated, with few shoppers and only the occasional aproned sales associate lurking around. The lights had been dimmed in a token effort at energy conservation and the usual nauseating vapid mood music had been replaced by the local classic rock station. He began humming along to Boston's _More Than a Feeling_ as he moved on to throw some packages of boxers into his cart.

He took a moment to look at the novelty t-shirts that lined one wall of the section. Dean considered getting himself one with the old school Ghostbusters logo on it, but figured it might be a little too on the nose to get away with. He laughed a little at a shirt that read " _In my defense I was left unsupervised."_ He thought about buying that one for Sam, but he decided he didn't want to get punched today. Instead he put a couple of packages of pain tees into his cart, black for him and the grey v-necks that Sam had started to wear.

Checking his watch, Dean realized he had better keep moving to finish his half of the list in the allocated hour. Pushing his cart leisurely toward the automotive section he caught himself tapping his thumbs in time to _Roxanne_ by The Police. The wax that Dean liked to use to keep his Baby looking so good was on sale, so he added a jug of that to the cart. Then he added a quart of oil. Finding some of the brand of leather cleaner and conditioner that got blood out of her upholstery, he tossed a tube of that in with the rest of the items. As he perused the aisle looking for anything else he might need to keep the Impala happy and well maintained, he idly wondered how Sam was doing on his half of the list.

If he remembered correctly they needed a jumbo bottle of painkillers, some deodorant, a pack of candles, and some metal bowls for spell work. He knew that Sam needed some of that girly shampoo Sam liked to use. In fact Dean would bet that Sam could spent a good 20 minutes smelling each bottle of shampoo and reading the label. Personally Dean used whatever came free at the motel du jour and in a pinch a bar of soap. The older hunter couldn't remember if he'd added aftershave to the list, but he figured he would wander over to the pharmacy section to make sure Sam didn't pick up some frue frue crap that smelled like a damn bowl of potpourri.

As he pushed his cart down the deserted aisles, he marveled at the amount of junk that people thought they needed. He and Sam had lived out of 3 duffles and the back of a car for most of their lives and managed perfectly fine. Now that they had the bunker, Dean had indulged in a few things for his room and the kitchen, but nothing that he couldn't live without. In fact, if he was honest with himself, there was very little he needed. His brother, his Baby, a few good weapons and a few good tunes. Speaking of which he was really enjoying the music in this place. Dean was perusing the dozens of brands of aftershave when the chorus to the latest track registered in his brain.

 _It was the heat of the moment_

 _Telling me what your heart meant_

 _The heat of the moment shone in your eyes_

Dean froze. Shit,shit,shit,shit! He thrust the bottle in his hand blindly back on the shelf. Abandoning his cart, he pulled his phone out and thumbed Sam's contact as he began jogging towards the housewares. Finally he heard the tinny sound of a ringtone as he came around the end of an aisle of pots and pans like an Indy driver.

Sam was sitting crumpled on the floor, scrunched up against a shelf of small appliances. One hand was gripping the edge of the shelf, knuckles white from the intensity of his grip as if to steady himself. The other hand was clutching his chest, his fingers knotted into the placket of his blue flannel shirt as he tried frantically to pull air into his lungs. Sam's hazel eyes were blown wide with panic and Dean could see his body shaking as he sprinted down the row towards his terrified brother.

"Hey, hey, hey Sammy...I'm here," Dean said gently, dropping to his knees beside the huddled younger man. Dean could never figure out how a guy Sam's size could curl into such a small ball. His brother may be a six foot four gigantor, but right now he look like a frightened child. The older hunter unfolded the hand tangled in flannel and pressed it against his own chest, his hand holding it in place. "Breathe Sam, nice and slow. Just like me." Dean began exaggerated deep breathing, trying to help Sam slow down his gasping pants. Sam's eyes were unfocused and glassy with fear. "Eyes on me Sammy," Dean said firmly even as he softly gripped his brother's chin with his free hand and held it in place until he could focus. Sam met his eyes, and took a shuddery ragged breath, slowly coming back to himself. "That's it Sammy, just breathe, you got this. Everything is Ok, I'm right here," Dean crooned encouragingly dropping his hand from Sam's chin to gently squeeze his brother's shoulder.

The final chords of the damn song finished and the opening bars of Toto's _Hold the Line_ began playing in the quiet store. Gradually the fear drained from Sam's hazel eyes and his breathing evened out. As Sam became more aware, a flush of shame spread over his cheeks and he turned his head away in embarrassment. The younger hunter began to get to his feet and Dean rose himself and offered a hand. Sam took it briefly then pulled away still not looking at his brother.

Clearing his throat, Sam said "I think I got everything on my part of the list," and grabbed the small hand basket he had been using for their shopping. His shoulders still hunched, Sam began making his way to the front of the store. It was obvious to Dean that Sam was embarrassed but he couldn't tease his little brother about this. Even though it had been years since that time in Florida at the Mystery Spot, Sam couldn't stomach that song. Although Sam wouldn't talk about it, the older man knew that his brother still had nightmares about that time. So Dean let him change the radio station unchallenged if it came on while they were in the car. And Sam would generally talk loudly over the music or even leave if he heard the opening notes of the song at a bar or restaurant. But usually Dean was nearby when that happened.

Dean sighed and followed his brother, finding his cart where he had left it on their way to the cashier. Sam was completely silent, jaw tight, as the bored cashier checked them out. They lugged their purchases across the empty parking lot to the car, the events in the store hanging between them. Once he had loaded the bags he had carried into the trunk, Sam slunk into the passenger seat and closed his eyes, refusing to even acknowledge Dean when he slid behind the wheel. Dean sighed again. The older Winchester started the car, the throaty rumble of the engine breaking the stilted silence. Dean pulled the car back out onto the street and made his way towards the highway. Traffic was light and Dean was considering the best route towards the bunker as he relaxed into the familiar comfort of driving.

"I'm sorry Dean, I didn't mean to fall apart in there." Sam's voice drifted softly from the other side of the bench seat. "It's just that song…"

Dean cut him off as Sam struggled to find the words to explain. "Don't worry about it Sam. I get it, no big deal," he said, reaching out and roughly squeezing Sam's shoulder. Dean glanced at his brother and offered a warm smile. Sam smiled back weakly, eyes full of emotion, before looking back at his hands in his lap.

"Thanks Dean," he said, voice heavy with unspoken love and gratitude. After a minute, the tall man closed his eyes and turned his head to lean against the window again, body slouching down into his usual sprawl.

"Hey, that's what awesome big brothers are for," Dean said with a fond look at his shaggy headed kid. The stars were out, Sam was beside him, the road ahead was clear and Dean felt that for once, despite everything they had been through, maybe life was pretty good - at least by Winchester standards. Turning the radio on low, the notes of Zepplin's _Fool in the Rain_ began spilling quietly from the speakers and Dean turned Baby towards home.


End file.
